


My Last Breath

by tender_is_the_ghost



Category: Norman Reedus - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Dark fluff, Deal with a Devil, F/M, Hades - Freeform, Heterosexual Sex, Immortality, Mirror Sex, Mutual Pining, Norman Reedus - Freeform, Oral Sex, Past Infidelity, Persephone - Freeform, RPF, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost/pseuds/tender_is_the_ghost
Summary: A few points I'd like to make... Yes, this is a mess... tenses and perspectives are all over the place, I'm sorry.No, Coney Island is not open in February and does not have a funhouse that I am aware of - call it poetic license!My Persephone is my own creation, designed to fit the needs of this story alone and, as such, does not really follow any of the established mythological lore so please don't judge me for that!Many thanks to Jen131 for putting this nugget in my head in the first place. I hope you like the results. The orange Camaro is all hers. ☺





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jen131](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jen131/gifts).



 

Persephone was bored, as immortals often were, drumming her perfectly-manicured crimson nails against the arm of her throne and trying to stifle a yawn as yet another lost soul was paraded before her.

 

“Crimes?” she asked, her rich tone sending a shiver down the spine of the poor wretch in front of her despite the obvious boredom lacing her question.

 

“Coveting his brother’s wife, cheating on his taxes and stealing cable from his neighbors,” comes the monotone voice of the masked guard at the prisoner’s side, reading from an open ledger in his leather clad fist.

 

 _“Really?”_ Persephone wanted to scream. _“I’ve seen empires rise and fall, men wage wars over the love of a single woman and yet this is what my existence has come down to? An endless parade of idiots who can’t keep their dicks in their pants and wouldn’t know true sin if it came up and slapped them in the face. Where have all the real men gone?”_

As if he could read her mind – which was always a possibility – Hades shifted position on the throne beside hers and leant across the gap to whisper quietly enough that only she can hear.

“Why don’t you go out, my dearest? Spend some time topside. It’s been an eon since you saw the world – maybe you can find something there to amuse you for a while, hmm? I can handle things down here, my Queen. Go… enjoy yourself. See what’s new.”

She doesn’t hesitate, leaping from her seat to throw her arms around Hade’s neck and plant a noisy kiss against his cheek before closing her eyes and willing herself out of the Underworld and into the land of the living. While she dotes on her husband and the life they have, that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t crave a change once in a while when the day to day mundanity of their responsibilities starts to feel like a crushing weight upon her shoulders. When she starts to feel that itch at the base of her spine, the one that crawls up into her brain and finds fault in every aspect of her existence, it’s usually Hades that reads it first and offers his wife an opportunity to release some of the tension that’s building in her. Having learnt of her explosive temper early on in their relationship, he had soon learned that the best thing for both of them was to remove his wife from whatever was currently fueling her fires and set her on a different path. So, he sent her out into the world to do whatever she pleased until she felt ready to return to their home again, turning a blind eye to her indulgences while she walked the earth, content in the knowledge that she would always come back to him.

Opening her eyes, Persephone finds herself in Marrakesh, standing in a darkened doorway on the edge of a bustling street market. She blinks against the gritty dust that fills the air, her nostrils flaring in delight as she inhales the myriad of exotic scents around her, flushing the acrid stench of brimstone from her senses. She moves out into the thronging crowds, drinking in the very essence of the market’s inhabitants, her mind skimming over theirs to pull delicious tidbits of their transgressions for her to feast on. Almost unconsciously, the market’s inhabitants part to flow around her as she passes, throwing curious glances at the strange, foreign woman walking among them. Their inquisitive eyes take in her all black ensemble – skin-tight pants of the softest leather, spike-heeled boots, a flowing shirt that’s just sheer enough to expose her lack of underwear and the swing of her raven hair which spills straight and loose down her back to her waist – but, as soon as they catch sight of her obsidian eyes, they hurriedly avert their gaze.

It might have been a hundred years since her last walk on earth but centuries of superstition and oral traditions were still prevalent in places such as this and soon, everywhere she looked, Persephone saw shutters being dropped and doors being closed as the market’s residents pass the word of the presence of death in their midst. With an exasperated sigh and a tut of her tongue, she closed her eyes once more and moved herself through the sheer force of her will to another corner of the globe. This time it was her ears that were assaulted first, even before she had opened her eyes and taken in the damp greyness of her surroundings – the sound of traffic rumbling around her in all its wondrous shapes and forms. Trafalgar Square, the heart of London, on a busy weekday morning was teeming with people despite the steadily falling rain that was giving the stark concrete and steel of the city’s lines an ethereal glow. Persephone moved among the oh-so-busy pedestrians rushing like ants from point A to point B, their minds so preoccupied with the minutiae of their own lives that they barely spared a glance for the Gothic-looking woman walking slowly between them with a mysterious smile tugging at her lips. It was far too early in the year – January, maybe February Persephone guessed, never really keeping that close of a count on the passing of time around her – for the tourists to be out in force but there were still a handful milling around, taking cheerful photographs in front of the imposing black stone lions that guarded the base of Nelson’s Column. These were the ones who truly saw her, not the self-involved locals wrapped up in the daily drama of their own existence but those that were taking time out of their usual grind to expand their horizons in a different part of the world. They saw the striking figure of a pale-skinned woman as she wove her way across the square, her countenance seemingly untouched by the unrelenting rain although she carried no umbrella to keep herself dry. A few of them turned their cameras in her direction, more on autopilot than with any real knowledge of who she was, just knowing that this was something out of the ordinary that they should try and capture but not one shot would appear when they checked later.

Ironically, it was the Underground that drew Persephone’s attention, her boots clacking against the stone steps as she made her way down, bypassing the ticket turnstiles with a wave of her hand and striding confidently aboard the first train to arrive. The destination didn’t matter, it was the passengers she was here for - caught for a brief period of time in a trap of their own choosing, something about the lulling sensation of the train’s motion and the lack of visual stimulation from the blackened windows letting their thoughts roam free – and she wasn’t disappointed. Sinking into a seat at the rear of the carriage, she closed her eyes and opened her mind to those around her, drawing their thoughts to her and sifting through the inconsequential detritus to find the meat beneath – the flashes of love affairs concealed from spouses, the gloating of those who had stolen something and were yet to be detected, the smorgasbord of guilt for a hundred different reasons. But still she wasn’t satisfied, the gnawing ache inside of her just growing more insistent, and she began pacing the carriage, delighting in the way that the other passengers shrunk back into their seats. At the next station she changed trains, trying again to find what it was that she was looking for but to no avail – something was calling to her but she just couldn’t pinpoint it. She rode the Underground for the better part of the day, feeding off of the scraps she could find, hoping to ascertain exactly what it was that her body was craving and becoming more frustrated as the day wore on. Even the unexpected revelation of finding a serial killer in the making on the last train out of Kensington for the night did little to improve her mood although the essence she drew from him made her body shudder in delight. When he departed the train, slipping malevolently into the crowd of people waiting to get on, Persephone tagged him as hers with nothing more than a brief touch of her finger against his hand as he passed, wanting to be the one to preside over his judgement when his time came.

Alighting onto the almost deserted platform at the end of the train’s journey, Persephone stood until the last of the other passengers had scurried away, eager to be out of the rain and the dark, to feel safe inside their own homes for the night. She debated her next move, eager to see more of the world in this century, but there was still that nagging feeling in her gut urging her to find whatever it needed to satisfy its craving if only she knew what it was looking for. The answer came to her without warning, a ping of her mental radar letting her know that a death was imminent nearby and, at first she thought nothing of it – as Queen of Hell she was tuned to every death in the world as they happened, each notification sounding just before the event to dispatch one of Hade’s Collectors to gather the deceased’s soul and transport it below for its final judgement. As a rule, she paid no attention to the endless roll call of passing souls that tapped on her consciousness when they were ready to depart their mortal coil – she had not collected a soul herself in longer than she could remember – but, for some reason, this one was shining like a neon light in the darkness of her mind. Without hesitation, she willed herself away from the rainy London night and homed in on the soon-to-be-deceased’s location, finding herself on a darkened highway on the outskirts of Berlin. Her arrival startled the Collector who was already in position waiting for his mark to arrive and he immediately prostrated himself on the ground at her feet, his wide eyes telling her that he thought he was in trouble of some kind.

“Leave,” she told him, dispatching him back to the Underworld with a wave of her hand before he could protest, her eyes already trained on the oncoming headlights of a large truck barreling down the highway.

A quick glance at the driver told her that he was not the one she was there for – the nearly dead wore an aura about them just before their demise that was not present on this one – and Persephone turned her head to scan her surroundings until she spotted a second vehicle rounding a bend on its way to join the highway. She could hear faint music from inside the vehicle, something she didn’t recognize which was hardly surprising given the amount of time she’d spent away from the world. In the glow of the dashboard’s light she could see the young man inside reaching distractedly for the car’s lighter, bringing it up to the cigarette dangling between his lips while his other hand drummed along on the steering wheel in time with the music. Persephone watched the scene play out, the truck driver pushing his vehicle way over the limit and the young man misjudging its speed as he pulled out, his mind filled with thoughts of a party he was going to be at later. She watched as they came together in a roaring screech of metal and glass, each of them trying in vain to pull back from the inevitable collision, the truck pulverizing the front end of the car and shooting its unrestrained driver through the windshield like a bullet. Even Persephone, who had seen the untold horrors of the world in all its Technicolor glory since time began, had to wince as the man hit the unforgiving road surface and rolled over and over before finally coming up short against the highway’s concrete median strip.

Following the explosive sound of the crash which had echoed out from their location, an eerie silence dropped over the scene of the accident, broken only by the muted sobbing coming from the virtually-unscathed truck driver and the click of Persephone’s heels as she strode across the hardtop to come to a halt in front of the man thrown free from his mangled car. Each immortal carried their own set of tricks and sleight of hand designed to baffle the mortals they ruled over and, among hers, Persephone had the ability to control time for a short period in her immediate vicinity. She enabled this phenomenon now as she stood looking down at the broken body of the man in front of her, pushing her influence out as far as she could to freeze time around them, leaving just the two of them functioning within its sphere. The man’s feet were kicking feebly against the cracked asphalt at the edge of the road as his body writhed in what must be untold agony, Persephone mentally cataloging his wounds with as much clinical detachment as a triage nurse assessing a patient in an E.R. His face was mangled almost beyond recognition on one side and there were rivulets of blood streaming down to soak into the black silk of the shirt he was wearing, turning it purple under the muted glow of the truck’s one remaining headlight. His chest was heaving rapidly but she could hear that one of his lungs wasn’t working as it should and she knew he was near to his last painful gasp for air. Standing above him, waiting to bear witness to his final moments and then carry him to the Underworld, she still wasn’t sure what had drawn her to him in the first place and then he opened his good eye, fixing his gaze on her instantly.

Even in the twilight surrounding them she could see the intense blue of his iris as he stared at her, something in the look he was giving her causing her breath to lock in her throat for a moment and for the tight feeling that had been tugging at her insides all day to dissolve into a warm ball of flames in the pit of her stomach.

“H-help me,” he croaks, his voice barely stirring the air around him as he fought for every breath.

Persephone considered his request thoughtfully – it was well within her power to grant him what he was asking if she felt so inclined but, to do so would most likely lead to yet another disagreement between Hades and the Fates. The three sisters were never supportive of what they liked to call her meddling and would, no doubt, descend on her husband in their self-righteous fury to demand that he keep his wife in check. Not that it had ever stopped her before, she thought with a smile quirking up the corner of her mouth, and it certainly wasn’t going to stop her tonight as long as the man lying on the ground at her feet was willing to make a deal. There was something about him that was tugging at her insides like a hellhound with a fresh bone, a feeling that she wanted to explore a little bit more, and it wasn’t like Hades would mind if she had a little fun – it wouldn’t be the first time either of them had taken a consort over their years together and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Hadn’t he just told her to find something to amuse herself with?

“Help,” the man with the brilliant blue eyes wheezes again, coughing a wad of blood onto the ground between them.

Crouching down beside him, Persephone reached out to lay her hand on the sweat-slicked skin of his forehead, momentarily blocking the pain that was coursing through his body so that he might have a clear mind with which to hear her offer. The relief on his face was immediate, his features relaxing a little from the agonized lines they had been drawn into, and she kept her hand in place while she spoke to him.

“You’re dying,” she tells him simply, seeing his good eye widen in surprise at her words. “I’ve masked your pain but your injuries will still take you unless I heal you.”

“Then do it,” he demands, blood from the mangled flesh of his face glistening in the dull light as it dripped from his chin to his chest.

“There’s a price.”

“A price?” he coughs, a fine mist of blood spraying out on his indignant exhale. “What do you want?”

“Let’s just call it a deal… an agreement between the two of us.”

“What kind of deal?” he asks and, although she can see that part of him believes what’s happening to him isn’t even real there is another part of him that is bursting with curiosity at her words.

“I’ll heal you now - just enough to save your life - and give you a strength and vitality that will keep you younger than your years for the rest of your days.”

“And what do you want in return?”

“One day each year – the anniversary of this day – I will come to you, no matter where you are or who you’re with, and you’re mine for that day to do with whatever I want.”

Persephone sees the quick dilation of his pupil as he looks at her along with the tight bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows before speaking and she knows his answer even before he darts out his tongue to whet his bloodied lips before replying.

“Deal,” he rasps, the wheezing breath escaping from his lungs indicating just how little time he has left.

Without another word, Persephone leans down over him, bringing their faces less than an inch apart, and then bites her lip hard enough to split the skin and draw blood. Inhaling softly, she presses her lips to his, tasting the salty tang as his blood mingles with hers, sealing their deal, and she closes her eyes. She’s not sure how long they’re joined like that, his mouth moving eagerly against hers as she heals the worst of his injuries, but she breaks their union with a small gasp as she hears the wail of approaching sirens. She straightens up once more, standing over him and releasing the hold she has on both his pain and the time that has been stilled around them and he lets loose an anguished scream.

“You said you’d heal me,” he accuses, panting heavily and staring up at her from his still ruined face.

“I said I would save your life,” she answers, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she waves her fingers vaguely in his direction. “This is just cosmetic. Time will take care of it.”

“Who are you?” he winces, his hands balling into fists with the pain from his face.

“Does it matter?” she replies, just as the first ambulance screeches onto the scene, bathing the asphalt in a disco-like haze of red and blue lights.

In the blink of an eye, she hides herself from mortal sight, stepping away as the area becomes flooded with people attending to the accident and its victims with a well-oiled efficiency. Persephone watches as they first assess the man’s injuries and then load him into the back of the waiting ambulance where she hears them ask his name before slamming the doors closed and taking off down the road at a breakneck speed. She keeps her eyes trained on the white vehicle until it disappears from sight, tasting the man’s blood still ripe on her tongue and smiling to herself.

“See you next year, Norman” she whispers on the night air before willing herself off of the mortal plane and back to the Underworld.


	2. Chapter 2

Norman breathes deeply, the drugs in his system keeping the pain in his face at bay and preventing him from forming any type of coherent thought. He’s vaguely aware that he’s lying in a bed someplace but he’s not sure where, the room around him smelling of antiseptic and filled with the muted beeping of machinery that sounds both familiar and alien to him at the same time. He drifts in his own mind, comfortable enough to not be worried by the fact that he has no idea what’s going on or where he is. He dimly recalls what might have been an accident, a flash of headlights and the crack of breaking glass passing fleetingly through his memories but he’s unclear as to whether he was a part of it or just a witness. He has a nagging feeling that he may be hurt but he pushes that thought aside as one crystal clear image swims into his consciousness – a woman with raven hair and unnaturally black eyes whose ruby lips are painted with blood. A voice in his mind tells him that he should probably be afraid but he ignores it, his body eager to taste her as she leans in to kiss him and he slips deeper into oblivion.

The road to his recovery is long, lonely and painful but he pushes on, the fighter in him not giving up as he endures multiple surgeries to repair the damage done to his face – his doctor’s still shaking their heads over the fact that he’d suffered no internal injuries despite the severity of the crash. Over time he convinces himself that the mysterious woman was just a figment his pain-wracked mind, created to get him to hang on until help arrived although he occasionally finds himself waking in the early hours feeling the heat of her lips against his. That is until, a year to the day after his crash, he feels a light tap on his shoulder at a party his agent has suggested he attend and he turns to find the woman from his dreams standing before him.

“You’re here,” he tells her, blinking stupidly for a moment as the sound from the party fades around them and all he’s aware of is her presence filling the room.

“I am,” she replies, her ruby red lips parting in a smile that reveals her slightly pointed teeth to him. “Did you doubt that I would be? We have a deal after all.”

“I didn’t think you were real,” Norman confesses, feeling a chill caressing his spine while a warm heat unfurls in his belly.

“Oh, I’m very real,” she whispers, reaching out to stroke a manicured fingernail along his cheekbone, making him flinch just a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking her hand and lowering it from his face as he averts his eyes from hers, “it’s still sensitive. I don’t think it will ever heal properly. Some days I think I should’ve died there… rather than live with this.”

“That can still be arranged,” she tells him and Norman glances back at her, unable to read anything in the dark pools of her eyes.

“Who are you? _What_ are you?” he asks, echoing the question he had asked her a year ago and realizing he still has her warm hand wrapped in his but he doesn’t let go. “I thought you were nothing but a dream.”

“Does it matter? Will it change anything?”

“No… I guess not,” he sighs and she squeezes his fingers lightly.

“This is not a curse,” she says, lifting her other hand to stroke the back of it against his cheek and this time he doesn’t pull away. “It’s just one more thing that makes you unique. Be proud of your scars… they show the world you’re a survivor.”

He regards her for a moment, still not convinced that this is nothing more than an elaborate dream although the touch of her flesh against his is as real as anything he’s ever felt, and then nods.

“Good,” she smiles, tugging his hand to pull him after her through the crowded room. “Then let’s get the hell out of here before you die of boredom instead.”

“I can’t… I have t-”

“Shh,” Persephone hushes him, throwing a smile back over her shoulder at him as she leads them outside. “This is my night, remember?”

Norman gives in, briefly catching the eye of his agent as he passes him on the way out and giving him an apologetic shrug, knowing there’ll be a serious reprimand in store for him the next day but not really caring. He’s suddenly feeling the thrill of the unknown that being with this strange woman brings, a sense of danger and excitement rolling through him, and he has the idea once more that he should probably be scared but he’s not. His eyes widen as the valet roars up in a bright orange Camaro, its paint job gleaming under the harsh lighting of the hotel entrance, and the woman tips him before slipping into the passenger seat. Norman races to the other side and climbs in behind the wheel, his heart pounding as he closes the door behind him and turns to grin at his companion.

“You sure?” he asks and barely waits for her nod before he puts the car in drive and floors it out of the driveway.

There are few things he loves as much as speeding along an open highway and being able to do it in such a cherry car as the one he’s now driving is filling him with an unbridled euphoria. His question of where they’re going is met with an answer of “Just drive” so that’s what he does, steering them rapidly out of the city and onto the coastal roads where he can really let loose. They spend the entire night in motion, Norman steering them deftly throughout the darkness, pushing the beast of an engine to its limits on the open straights and navigating hairpin turns with a steady hand. During their trip, his partner questions him softly, asking about his life over the past year but never volunteering anything of herself into the conversation despite Norman's attempts to learn more about her. As the eastern sky starts to lighten with the oncoming dawn, she requests that he drives back to the hotel where they had started their evening and he turns the car in that direction, eager to find out if she intends to continue their time together in a more intimate setting. To his disappointment, however, she has him pull up at the hotel’s entrance and then gets out to come around to meet him at the driver’s side where she pushes him back against the car. Seemingly oblivious to the waiting valet who is discreetly averting his gaze, she presses her body against Norman's and lays a kiss on him that has him practically whimpering into her mouth. All of his senses light up as he feels the firm curves of her body covering his, sparks flying from his nerve endings as he returns her kiss with an equal passion, and he fumbles to bring his hands around her waist and hold her to him. Just as he’s starting to think that he hopes she never stops kissing him, a not so discreet cough from the waiting valet pulls her lips from his and Norman is left gasping in the void created by her absence as she steps back. While he’s desperately trying to recover his composure, she reaches out to gently pat his cheek and then climbs into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed behind her as she revs the engine from a purr to a growl.

“Wait!” he cries, rapping his knuckles against her window until she lowers it. “Please… tell me your name at least.”

She grins at him as she raises the glass between them, her dark eyes flashing, and he feels his heart fall but, as she peels out of the hotel forecourt, he hears one word in his mind as clearly as she had whispered it in his ear.

“Persephone.”

Shaking his head and throwing a rueful glance at the smirking valet, Norman waits for his own car to be brought around, turning her name over and over in his mind.

Back in his own apartment, and once he’s taken a lukewarm shower and jerked off hard enough that he thinks he might have blacked out for a moment, he sits naked in front of his computer, waiting for the machine to boot up. Her name was familiar to him in one of those vague ways, like something he’d maybe heard as an answer on a TV trivia show or once read in a book – he had a feeling it was something from mythology but he couldn’t place it exactly. Once he’s online, he quickly types her name into his search engine and eagerly scrolls the results, his eyes first widening and then his brow furrowing as page after page of information appears on the screen all giving him the same answer. A shiver rolls across his still damp skin which has nothing to do with his undressed state and everything to do with the image he’s just stumbled across of the woman he’d just spent the last few hours with.

Onscreen is a photo of a painting from the 1800s if the description underneath is to be believed, the dark colors making some of the details hard to see but there’s no mistaking the striking countenance of his evening’s companion. She is standing astride the body of a man, his face turned up to her in anguished horror and, in her right hand, she has what is surely meant to be a representation of the man’s soul as she pulls it free of his body. There’s a look of wild, feral beauty about her and Norman's eyes devour every inch of her from the bare musculature of her arms to the firm swell of her breasts pushing against the flimsy fabric of the flowing black gown she’s wearing. Reluctantly he opens a new tab, digging deeper and deeper, uncovering more and more images that confirm what he already knows in his heart even though they’re not all entirely accurate, there are enough similarities in each portrayal for him to know it’s her. He pushes back from the desk, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him as his brain processes what he's learned, vaguely aware that his cock is once again standing hard against his stomach. There’s no fear or disbelief in him, just an open curiosity as to why she would’ve spared him that night in Berlin when all the stories point to her as being single-minded in her duty as the Queen of Hell.  

It’s a question that comes back to him often over the following years and one he poses to Persephone herself on numerous occasions but she’s never forthcoming with an answer so he's always left to wonder what it was she saw in him that night which prompted her to save his life. It’s not that he was ungrateful in any way, far from it, but the curiosity was always there about why she had found him worthy of a second chance. He was happy in his existence, his career progressing slowly but surely until he finally found the role most actors could only dream of and poured himself into it, heart and soul. The additional strength and vitality she had gifted him with served him well, keeping him younger than his years, although he found he was more inclined to play the daredevil even as he got older. Motorcycles became his passion - the faster the better - but he would try anything once, from zip-lining to bungee jumping, a part of him always believing that Persephone would be there to save him should he go too far. Friends and family commented on his youthful outlook towards life, some even assigning a Peter Pan complex to him and asking him when he was ever going to grow up but he’d just shrug it off and move on to the next outlandish idea that grabbed his attention.

Throughout it all, Persephone was a constant in his life, their yearly reunions something he both loved and loathed because it could never be more than what it was, no matter how much he wanted it. She had seduced him on her second visit, taking his body and mind to heights of pleasure he had never even dreamed possible and leaving him weeping when she had left the following dawn. Sometimes he’d wake on the morning of their anniversary and she’d be perched on the end of his bed, petting his cat, or in his kitchen making him breakfast. Other times he’d be walking through the crowded streets of New York and suddenly she’d be walking at his side, slipping her warm hand into his. On occasion, she wouldn’t appear until the last hour before dawn and then she would seduce him in a furious silence as though she was racing the light, leaving him exhausted and spent as she vanished once more. Those are the years he hated – not because he felt cheated by the short amount of time he had to spend with her but because he was scared she wouldn’t come at all as the days had drawn into night.

He had to wonder if she was the reason he found it impossible to maintain a real relationship in his life, even with the mother of his son and, if he was honest with himself, he knew it was true. After all, what woman was ever going to compare when you had the Queen of Hell in your bed even if it was only once a year. For her part, Persephone didn’t seem to mind the women he bedded, in fact she wanted to hear all about them, having him describe how they were in bed while he was buried deep inside of her. So, he continued his relationships even though his heart was never really in it, working his way through a string of almost identical women, knowing that none of them would ever be what he was looking for. Strangely, though he knew the one woman he craved was far beyond his reach, he never felt unfulfilled or bitter about it, he just accepted it as part of his life and learned to appreciate the time he did get to spend with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Persephone pulls up in front of Norman's building, tires screeching as she lays on the car horn with no regard for the fact that she’s violating at least a dozen traffic laws, tapping her nails impatiently against the steering wheel until he appears at the front entrance. She eyes him up and down, sucking in an appreciative breath at the way his dark t-shirt pulls tightly against his upper arms and chest as he pushes open the door. His face breaks into a broad smile as he climbs into the passenger seat beside her, the scent of his musky cologne tickling her nose when he leans over to kiss her cheek in greeting and Persephone can feel the rough scratch of his goatee against her skin.

“You’ve stopped smoking,” she tells him, leaning back to meet his eyes which are staring back at her with a look of amusement.

“I’m trying,” he laughs, shaking his hair back from his face and buckling his seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

“Coney Island,” she answers, pulling out into traffic amidst the angry bleating of car horns.

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “Why?”

“Why not?” she replies, smirking as she catches sight of him white-knuckling the edge of his seat when she blazes through a red light.

With Norman trying and failing to appear unnerved at her driving, what would normally be a thirty minute journey only takes them ten before Persephone slams the Camaro into an empty parking space and kills the engine.

“C’mon,” she says cheerfully, slapping a hand on his thigh which makes him jump a little and she smiles as she opens her door and gets out.

As she stands, the long, flowing skirt she’s wearing billows in the sea breeze, revealing the ankle to thigh slit in its sheer material and she sees Norman's eyes widen as his gaze travels up her body. She feels that inexorable pull that happens whenever they’re together, her body responding to his in a way that’s more than just physical, and she can see the color rising on his cheeks as he comes around the car to meet her. Without invitation, he slides his hands to her waist, his fingers skimming up under the edge of the loose peasant blouse she’s wearing to brush against her bare skin. Drawing her body to his, he tilts his head, his eyes glittering in the fluorescent lights of the parking lot, before he leans in to kiss her. Persephone closes her eyes, her own fingers finding their way up to tangle in his hair as she breathes in the very essence of him, her lips parting at the insistent demands of his tongue and they meld together, oblivious of anything but each other. She can hear the soft moan building in his throat as his mouth devours hers, a year’s worth of pent up longing surfacing in both of them to increase the intensity of their kiss, and she involuntarily presses tighter to his firm body. She wants him – to deny it would be a lie to herself and to him – but first she wants to enjoy her freedom a little bit so she breaks the kiss and backs away from him, giving him a wicked smile as she turns on her heel and heads towards the bright lights of the fairground.

He’s beside her in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm possessively around her shoulder and tugging her into his side as they walk, a move that Persephone would never tolerate from anybody but him. Even though the crowds are thin on a chilly Saturday night in February, she can’t fail to notice the amount of heads that turn their way as they move among them but, for once, she’s no longer sure that it’s her presence that’s garnering all the attention. As they walk between the gaudy amusements and neon rides - Persephone insisting they sample every type of junk food they come across - she’s always aware of his touch on her body, whether it’s the brush of his fingers as he shares her cotton candy or the press of his thigh as they ride the Cyclone. She knows he wants her, can smell the desire on him, but he doesn’t press the situation and for her that is the biggest turn on of them all. She had been with many men over that ages that had seen her as a trophy, the glory of bedding the Devil’s wife more important to them than who she actually was and, deep down, that had hurt her. She was still a woman after all, one who wanted to be worshipped and adored in her own right, and Norman made her feel that way. His love and desire for her never wavered over the years and he had never once taken what she’d done for him for granted, he had only shown his appreciation of her over and over. And Persephone thrived on that, feeling cherished in a way she had never experienced either in her mortal life or her immortal one, and that was why she knew she had to restrict their relationship to only one night a year. There was nothing to stop her coming to him whenever she wished but she knew that she would be playing with hellfire if she did, that the affection she had for him would grow beyond the mere dalliance that her husband tolerated and would become something altogether more dangerous.

“Hey,” Norman says softly, squeezing her shoulder and Persephone blinks, realizing she had let her thoughts run away with her once more. “Penny for ‘em?”

“Hmm?” she replies, seeing the concerned look in his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, nudging his body against hers.

They’re on top of the Wonder Wheel, the ride momentarily stalled to let on new passengers at ground level, and there’s a stiff breeze blowing in from the ocean but all Persephone can feel is the heat building inside of her as she stares into Norman's eyes. The car rocks a little as she changes position, leaning further into him and dipping her head to nuzzle her lips against his throat, tasting the salt from the sea air on his skin. His hand comes to rest on the back of her head, stroking the length of her hair as she nips and kisses her way up the underside of his jaw to meet his mouth with hers. She rolls her tongue over his, desperate for his taste, and he responds in kind, his breath quickening as her hand travels to his crotch to palm his cock through his jeans. He’s groaning into her mouth, his hand tightening at the back of her neck as she increases the pressure on his crotch and she can feel a deep ache settling in her pussy as she remembers what it’s like to have him buried inside her. His other hand grasps at the bare flesh of her thigh where her skirt has parted and he begins running his fingers in maddening circles on her skin, teasing higher and higher until she’s responding to his moans with one of her own.

“Shit!” he curses vehemently as the Ferris wheel suddenly lurches back into motion, jerking them apart but Persephone just throws her head back and laughs to the sky.

As the wheel slowly descends back to the ground with Norman obviously trying to get himself back under control, Persephone signals the ride attendant to let them off and they disembark in a tangle of limbs, giggling like a pair of teenagers. Pulling her into the shadowed gap between two nearby concession stands, Norman resumes their kiss, his hands seemingly all over her body at once, teasing her with such familiarity that Persephone’s heart aches for what can never be hers.

“Let’s go,” she whispers wanting him now, more than ever, knowing that their time is short and not wanting to waste another second of it where they aren’t naked together.

“Where to?” Norman asks breathlessly, his voice rasping against her skin as his teeth graze her neck and she can hear the urgency in his tone.

Persephone doesn’t answer him, just takes his hand and leads him swiftly away from the bright lights to the other end of the park where the less popular attractions are situated, the area practically deserted.

“The Fun House?” Norman asks in surprise as she drags him up the brightly-colored front steps, flicking her hand in the direction of the bored-looking attendant sitting in the booth out front who immediately drops his chin to his chest.

“Trust me,” Persephone tells him, reaching out to cast a glamor over the empty building designed to keep anyone from wandering inside and disturbing them.

Satisfied that they have the place to themselves, she leads him inside, moving surely through the maze-like interior and skipping past the moving walkways, spinning floors and other surprises designed to amuse visitors as they battled to stay upright. Persephone knows exactly where she’s headed and Norman follows her silently as she takes them into a series of darkened corridors ending in a room that consists of nothing except other doors, the one they entered by slamming shut behind them. Without hesitation, she chooses the only other door in the room that opens and ushers Norman through into the dimly lit but nonetheless sparkling room beyond. The door closes softly behind them, blending seamlessly into the wall and leaving them standing in a seemingly endless room of mirrors, their reflections bouncing back at them from every angle including the ceiling above and the polished floor below.

“Woah,” Norman exclaims, spinning in place to take in their surroundings.

“Remind you of anything?” Persephone asks, grabbing his hand and watching his eyes widen in surprise as she casts an image of a different version of himself into the mirror ahead of him, seeing the realization in his eyes as the cocky, young Norman with the cropped blond hair smirks back at him.

“Have you been hacking my Netflix again?” Norman chuckles, his youthful counterpart grinning right along with him in the mirror. “Okay… that’s kinda unnerving.”

“Oh, my dear sweet boy,” Persephone answers, dismissing the glamor with another flick of her wrist, “don’t you think I have ways of seeing anything I want?”

“And you wanted to see the bad decisions I made before I met you?” he asks, curiosity tinging his tone as he steps forward to run his hands lightly down her upper arms, cupping his palms around her elbows.

“I wanted to see _who_ you were before you met me,” she corrects, resting her palms against his chest.

“And?” he questions her, quirking an eyebrow up which disappears under the shaggy fall of his hair.

“Seems you were quite the bad boy,” she teases, reaching up to trail one manicured nail down the taut surface of his shirt across his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

“Nah,” Norman snorts, dropping his hands from her arms to rest warmly on her hips, “you musta been looking at someone else, babe. I was as innocent as a newborn lamb back then.”

“Really?” Persephone smiles, her fingers working smoothly on unbuttoning his shirt. “What about the co-star you shared this little scenario with?”

“What about her?” he says nonchalantly, shrugging out of his open shirt and letting it drop to the shiny floor, but he knows Persephone can see the flicker of remembrance in his eyes.

“Don’t play coy with me, it doesn’t suit you,” she admonishes him, lightly stroking her fingers across his chest, teasing at the sparse hair between his nipples. “I know you wanted her from the start.”

“She was married,” Norman protests, his breath catching as Persephone lowers her head to scrape her teeth over his rigid nipple.

“So she didn’t get you as hard as a rock from the moment you laid your hands on her?” she asks, looking back up at him and sliding her hand down over the front of his jeans to palm his already throbbing cock. “You weren’t thinking about how you’d like to fuck her pretty little mouth if the two of you were alone.”

“No!” Norman moans, shaking his head halfheartedly while Persephone’s fingers deftly undo his jeans and push them down over his hips along with his underwear.

“Really?” she smirks, taking his length in her hand and beginning a slow, deliberate stroke up and down that almost has him whimpering.

“It was wrong,” he stutters, raking a hand back through his hair and pulling it tightly, trying to distract himself from her silky touch.

“And that was why you liked it,” she accuses him, abruptly releasing his leaking cock from her grip and stepping back from him.

His body feels instantly cold without her touch, a shiver running over his skin that just accentuates his desire, and he wets his suddenly dry lips as he watches her loosen the ties on her blouse to let it slip from her skin, exposing the firm flesh of her breasts to him. He tries to step forward, cursing as he gets tangled in the jeans pooled around his ankles and he kicks them angrily off along with his boots as the tinkle of Persephone’s laughter bounces off of the mirrors around them. Free of his clothing, he stands naked before her for a moment, noting the way she purses her lips in appreciation as her eyes travel his body from head to toe before flicking back to his face. Taking the initiative and hoping to deflect her from her line of questioning, Norman moves forward to press her body against the shiny surface behind her, his hands going to her waist and then sliding up to cup her breasts as his mouth finds its way to suck at the sensitive skin of her throat. This time it’s Persephone who moans, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as he works his way down her chest, licking and sucking at her pliant flesh until he has the hardened nub of her nipple between his lips. Her hips buck forward, the whisper of her skirt causing a delicious friction against his rigid cock, as he teases her nipples with his teeth and tongue, gripping almost too tightly at her breast to bring it up to his lips. Her hands tug his head back up, his mouth clashing with hers as she kisses him hard and he covers her body with his, wanting desperately to be inside her. He knows – hopes – that there’ll be time for more measured love-making later but, for now, his cock is throbbing and his stomach is aching with his desire to feel her surround him.

Sliding a hand down, he pushes it through the split in her skirt, brushing her warm skin with the pads of his fingers as he navigates up along her thigh to the waiting heat of her pussy, the hair there already soaked with her wetness. She growls low in her throat as he dips two fingers into that slick heat, parting her lips with ease to push deep inside her, and her lips tear away from his as she throws her head back. Norman eases his fingers back and forth, watching her face as he slowly teases her pussy and catching sight of his own reflection over her shoulder, his eyes heavily-lidded with lust. With a barely-controlled urgency, he pulls at her skirt, bunching the material up around her waist so that she’s fully exposed to him then he slides his fingers from her. Lifting her leg, he grips tight at the back of her knee, guiding himself forward so that the tip of his cock is poised against the entrance to her pussy.

“Do it,” she demands, her hands clawing at the skin of his chest to fasten around his neck.

Norman thrusts forward, hissing between his teeth as his cock parts her slick walls, her muscles clenching around him instantly, and all thought leaves his mind. Her scent is rising between them, filling the air and making him delirious with his lust, his body moving of its own volition it seems as he draws back and thrusts into her again. He can feel the trickle of his own sweat rolling down his spine as he pounds into her, can feel her own skin wet against his where they’re pressed together but he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. Ever. The creaking of the mirrored surface behind her filters through the fugue he’s in and he slows his frantic pace for a moment as he glances at himself, seeing his teeth bared in an animalistic grin. He drops his forehead to the damp skin Persephone’s shoulder, his breath heaving in his chest and his hips now rolling slowly into her.

“Did you fuck her, Norman?” she whispers, her breath tickling his ear and he shakes his head.

“No,” he mumbles, clinging to her, his cock buried to the hilt in her pussy, not moving.

“Did. You. Fuck. Her?” she asks again, clenching her muscles around him to punctuate every word. “Did you tell yourself it was wrong as you were getting hard in front of the cameras, knowing she could feel it, that she was causing it? Did you like the way she trembled under your touch when you pressed your cock against her even though you knew her husband was watching every move? Did you try to justify it as ‘heat of the moment’, hmm? What about later… when everyone was gone except the two of you… how did you justify it then? Did she let you seduce her… did she beg and plead and promise you her husband would never know but she needed to have you right there and then? Isn’t that how it happened, baby?”

“I never meant…” he says, his shame at that moment bringing a new heat to his face that has nothing to do with his lust and everything to do with the memories she’s conjuring in his mind.

“You fucked her without a thought for the consequences or for her husband. You fucked her for your own gratification just because you could and, when you were done, you left her trembling on the floor while you walked away, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Norman yells, lifting his head to meet her eyes, “I fucked her and she loved it, is that what you want to hear? She was all over me from the day we met and, yes, I should’ve known better, been the bigger man but I wasn’t, okay? She wanted it and I gave it to her, end of story.”

“That’s my boy,” Persephone purrs, running her hands down his heaving chest. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Fuck you,” he growls, his anger and shame at his younger self boiling over.

“I thought you already were,” she laughs, thrusting her hips against him and squeezing tight around his length. “C’mon, baby, don’t be mad… you know you can’t keep secrets from me and you know how much it turns me on to hear your confessions.”

Norman sighs, his body still aching for release, knowing that her words are true - that there’s nothing he can hide from her and he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t want to, that he’s willing to share every part of himself with her, good or bad. Pulling out of her grip, his cock sliding from her with a small gush of fluids, he regards her for a moment, liking the slight uncertainty he can see in her eyes despite her ability to know seemingly everything about him. He lowers her raised leg slowly back down to the scuffed floor and she gasps as he abruptly takes her in his arms to lay her down, following her to kneel between her thighs.

“Watch yourself, baby,” he murmurs, tilting her head back to look at the mirrored ceiling above them before he kisses his way down the firm mounds of her breasts and pushes aside her skirt to part her thighs.

He raises her knees, his hands gliding down her thighs to cup her ass and raise her open pussy to his mouth, hearing her sharp intake of breath as he licks the trail of juices from her inner thigh up to her pussy itself. He’s practically drooling as he takes his first real taste of her, pushing his tongue as deep as he can and lapping at her exquisite wetness. She writhes under his touch as he deepens his stroke but a quick glance up tells him she’s obeying his instruction and her eyes are fixed firmly on a point above his head. He wishes he could see what she can, the thought of watching himself eat her out making his cock twitch against his thigh and he thrusts his tongue into her again, moaning against her flesh. Moving up, he turns his attention to her clit, the mass swollen and plump under his touch as he runs the tip of his tongue over and around it, tracing its contours until she’s bucking against his face. He’s learned to read her body well over the years, although she’s still full of surprises, and he knows just what it takes to push her over the edge. Humming gently against her, he wraps his lips around her clit, pulling the flesh slightly as he sucks hard on it and rubs his tongue rapidly back and forth against it. Persephone stiffens under him, her hands beating a muted drumroll as they slap against the unforgiving surface beneath her, and she squirts into his mouth, her pussy pulsing as he sucks every last drop from her quivering flesh. Her hips buck against him for a few moments but his hands hold her steady until she goes limp against them and he lowers her ass back to the floor. Moving up her body, he peppers her skin with sticky kisses and then captures her mouth with his, groaning as she wraps her arms around him and eagerly sucks her taste from his lips and tongue.

With a contented exhale, she lets him go, splaying her arms against the cold floor as she stares up at him with shining eyes, her body shuddering occasionally as it recovers from her orgasm. Norman sits back on his knees, stroking his hands down her thighs, feeling that he would be content to watch her for eternity despite the now raging ache in his cock and balls. Persephone, it would seem, has other plans however as she raises herself up from the floor and climbs to her feet to step out of her skirt which is pretty much soaked through with her own juices. Tossing it aside, she turns her back to Norman, planting her feet firmly as she bends forward to place her hands against the mirrored wall, her rounded ass and the tantalizing glimpse he has of her slick pussy an obvious invitation.

“What are you waiting for?” she smiles, meeting his eye in the mirror and running her tongue over the fullness of her kiss-plumped lips.

He doesn’t need a second invitation, scrambling to his feet and stepping up behind her to run his hands from her shoulders down to her ass, squeezing her cheeks hard and hearing her moan in response. He gives her a little slap for good measure, grinning at the mewl of pleasure that escapes from her lips, before he takes his cock in hand and rubs it against her entrance, seeing her back arch more as she opens herself to him. He pushes forward, sighing as he’s once more enveloped in her slick heat, feeling her muscles still spasming slightly from the orgasm he’d just given her as she tightens around him. He rocks his hips, thrusting slowly at first and then building his pace as she slams back to meet each penetration. His hands slide up her back, one holding her shoulder and the other wrapping tightly in the long dark tresses of her hair. Pulling her head back as he fucks her hard and fast, their eyes meet briefly in the mirror, and she breathes a single word.

“Watch.”

Norman tears his eyes from her, looking to their joined reflection instead, seeing himself with crystal clarity from every angle even though his logical mind declares that’s an impossibility and he knows that Persephone is creating the effect for him. He goes with it, watching himself fuck the most beautiful woman in any world - first from behind, the muscles in his buttocks clenching and releasing with every thrust and then from above, seeing their bodies move in tandem. From in front, he can see both their faces, each of them flushed with desire as they stare back at him. When the view changes to below, the reflection vividly clear despite the scuffed floor it should be bouncing from, he moans as he watches his cock sliding rapidly in and out of Persephone’s dripping pussy. She holds that view, obviously reading his body as well as he’d read hers and he slows his thrusts for a moment, fascinated by the sight of himself opening her up, her lips wrapping around him until his balls are swinging against her. Grunting, he shakes his head, the hand he has wrapped in her hair tightening as he starts pounding furiously into her once more and the view in front of his eyes resolves to normal. Locking eyes with her once again, he gives a final thrust and she squeezes hard around him, his body jerking as he shoots his load into her, his cock pumping repeatedly until he’s just futilely rocking his hips on autopilot.

“Easy,” Persephone murmurs, straightening up under him and he releases the grip he has on her hair, his hands dropping to her hips as he pulls slowly out of her, gasping as the cool air meets his hot, wet flesh.

She turns to face him and he takes her in his arms, partly just to steady himself should his shaking legs betray him but mostly because he can’t bear to let her go, even for a second. He kisses her face, running his hands through her hair and caressing every part of her that he can reach while she laughs softly in delight and returns the favor, both of them coming together in a deep kiss as their bodies cool down.

“Come on,” she says, parting her lips from his and stepping back to give him a wink. “How about you buy me some more cotton candy and then maybe I’ll let you take me home and we can do this all over again?”

“Deal,” Norman says, bending to scoop up his discarded clothing from the floor with a grin, mentally thanking her for the stamina her gift had given him, without which his sexual exploits for the evening would be done at this point, “but I’m driving!”


	5. Chapter 5

The blaring of a familiar-sounding car horn startles Norman from his slumber and he groans, knowing that she’s gone before he even reaches out an arm across the empty space of the sheets which are still warm from the heat of her skin. He rolls onto his back, cursing at himself as the first fingers of light creep across the horizon and steal their way into the sanctuary of his bedroom. He had tried so hard not to fall asleep, wanting to spend every second with her until the inevitable moment that he would have to let her go, but his body had betrayed him at some point during the early hours of the morning and he had drifted off. Hardly surprising, he thinks as he pulls himself upright and heads into the bathroom, given the fact that the sexual antics they had started at the fairground had only increased once they had arrived back at his apartment. He groans as the first pummeling spray of water hits his aching muscles, his mind full of Persephone – her taste, her scent, the way her skin had glided over his in the dark – and he’s shocked to find his cock stiffening once more. He sends a silent prayer of thanks her way as he slides his soapy palm down to take care of his eager erection, resting his forehead against the cool tiles, knowing that his stamina is purely a result of the gift she’d bestowed on him so many years before.

With his body sated once more and his mind trying to focus on anything but the thought of another long year without her, Norman gathers his things and heads out into the world to catch a flight to L.A. where he intends on distracting himself in a drunken weekend with his best friend. On the plane, he ignores all the whispers of his name and the endless clicking of cell phones that accompany his every move, choosing instead to turn his face to the window, lowering the brim of his hat over his eyes and pushing his earbuds in deep enough to drown out everything but the hum of the machinery beneath him. He dozes intermittently, ignoring any attempts by the ever-smiling flight attendants to service his needs until, just over six hours later, he feels the plane begin its descent towards LAX and he straightens up in his seat. Checking his cell phone as the plane taxis along the runway, he finds a missed call from Sean along with a voicemail instructing him to pick his friend up from his local gym instead of meeting him at home as they had originally planned. Shaking his head at his buddy’s endless quest to maintain the physique that made him the envy of men half his age, Norman disembarks the plane, a handful of rapid selfies with various airport employees guaranteeing his trip through the terminal and the collection of his rental car go off without any added delay.

He steps out of his car, the afternoon sun warming his skin after the chill of the car’s ac, just as Sean walks out of the low-slung brick building housing the private gym, his hair wet from the shower he’d just taken.

“Dude!” Sean yells, his face breaking into a wide grin as they meet in a back-slapping hug that lifts Norman’s spirits exponentially.

“You ready for this?” Norman asks, releasing his friend a little to hold him by the elbows and give him a little shake. “You, me, a little Jack… a lot of Jack!”

“Fuck yeah!” Sean agrees, tossing his head back in a throaty laugh. “But first, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“No way,” Norman exclaims, cocking his head to one side and raising one eyebrow above his Ray-Bans, “you mean I’m finally going to meet your mystery woman?”

“Dude, chill,” Sean admonishes him, glancing around to make sure nobody can overhear. “You know it’s not like that… I’m a married man.”

“Sure,” Norman smirks, stepping back to fold his arms over his chest and grin at Sean.

For the past ten years at least, Norman has ribbed Sean about his personal trainer, a woman who he has somehow never managed to cross paths with despite the numerous amount of times he’s accompanied Sean to the gym. It had turned into a longstanding joke that Sean was having an affair with her – something Norman would’ve kicked his ass for had he thought it to be true for even an instant – and he was keeping her away from Norman whenever he visited. Over the years, Sean’s denials had become more and more strenuous after each ‘just missed her’ moment that Norman had experienced and having yet another chance to tease his friend was just what Norman needed right now. He’s just opening his mouth to release one of his patented accusations when the door to the gym swings open again and the words die on his lips as he feels the all too familiar tug to his insides that he thought was gone for another year. Although she’s casting a glamour that makes her appear to be a short, stocky blond with over-developed biceps and a slightly bow-legged gait, Norman would recognize her even if he had suddenly been struck blind. She walks over at Sean’s beckoning wave, joining the men beside Norman’s car and he realizes he can smell her scent even before she reaches them, his sense memory flashing an image of his mouth buried deep in her core, drowning in her essence. He misses the first part of the conversation, blinking stupidly as Persephone holds out her hand, his own raising of its own volition to wrap around her warm skin and he feels his insides turn to molten lava.

As soon as her fingers grasp his flesh, he feels the world swim around him as time stops and Persephone’s true face is revealed, her dark eyes twinkling mischievously as they meet his.

“What the fuck?” he stammers, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing and desperately trying to ignore the frozen landscape around him.

“Surprise,” she says softly, stepping closer to him but not relinquishing her hold on his hand.

“How are you here? Why?” he asks, his brain flooding with questions and random sparks of thought as certain nuggets of information collide to set off a chain of lightbulbs. “How long have you and Sean…?”

“Been working on getting abs that just won’t quit?” she laughs, the sound shooting daggers of desire straight through him.

“You’re not…” he trails off, not wanting to ask the question or have it answered.

“No,” she tells him, lowering her voice intimately and reaching up to lay her palm against his cheek. “You’re the only one.”

“Then why?”

“Because I like him,” she says simply, “and being close to him makes me feel just that little bit closer to you when the months between us seem eternal.”

“Did you make a deal with him too?” Norman asks, his curiosity displacing the strangeness of the moment.

“Not exactly,” she smiles, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand, “but I might have been slipping a little ambrosia in those disgusting shakes he loves so much.”

“Ha! I knew it,” Norman crows, pulling her into his arms and wrapping them around her waist. “No way he’d be looking that good on Kale alone! But how come you’re telling me now?”

“Honestly… I don’t know. I guess I felt bad that I left without saying goodbye this morning and I didn’t want to wait another year to do this…”

She tilts her head up, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips before she pushes them against his, her plump skin molding to his as she kisses him slowly and softly. Norman closes his eyes, tightening his grip around her and kissing her back, feeling a flush creep over his entire body when she parts his lips to stroke her tongue languidly against his. With time stopped around them he has no idea if their kiss lasts seconds or hours, he is lost in the very essence of her, wanting to stay coupled to her for eternity. Eventually he’s aware of her pulling back from him, their bodies gradually parting until the kiss ends and he finds himself grinning at her smiling face, memorizing everything about her as she slides her fingers from his.

“Norman, hi, I’m Jen” she purrs warmly, the words coming from a face that isn’t hers and Norman can’t help but stare at her, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Uh, yeah… you too,” he says, wondering how his tongue is even forming the words and he can see her lips twitch with a suppressed grin as the world crashes in on them once more.

“Sean, I’m sorry, I really have to run,” she says, turning her attention to the other man and kissing him briefly on the cheek. “I’ll see you next week. Norman, it was nice to meet you.”

Norman nods, not trusting himself to speak again, his brain spinning as he watches Persephone walk away, only then noticing the bright orange Camaro parked in the back of the lot. Sean has already climbed into the passenger seat of Norman’s rental car and is fiddling with the stereo but Norman pauses for a moment as Persephone drives past, tipping her dark glasses down with one finger to give him a wink over the top. Watching her burn rubber as she peels out of the parking lot, he shakes his head and slips in behind the steering wheel, turning to face Sean who is still messing with the radio.

“What?” Sean asks, throwing him a curious glance.

“Nothing,” Norman answers, facing forward and putting the car in drive, “I was just thinking how good you look today. Jen’s really good at her job.”

“Yes, she is,” Sean agrees, fastening his seatbelt. “Now, if you’re done flirting with me, can we get the fuck outta here?

Norman doesn’t answer, just hits the gas and steers the car out onto the main road, chuckling to himself and thinking that one day, he and Sean are going to be having a very interesting conversation.

**Author's Note:**

> A few points I'd like to make... 
> 
> Yes, this is a mess... tenses and perspectives are all over the place, I'm sorry.
> 
> No, Coney Island is not open in February and does not have a funhouse that I am aware of - call it poetic license!
> 
> My Persephone is my own creation, designed to fit the needs of this story alone and, as such, does not really follow any of the established mythological lore so please don't judge me for that!
> 
> Many thanks to Jen131 for putting this nugget in my head in the first place. I hope you like the results. The orange Camaro is all hers. ☺


End file.
